Katlin Puchalski tells her own story. I’m just adding an extra note or so here -- namely, that Katlin works at Miller School as a special education teacher; and that in the summer (now that her children are nearly grown), she plants and tends gardens from Camden to Alna for the company she started, Busy Bee Mama Gardening. She named it Busy because she never stops moving, Bee because she wants to save the bumble bees for the world, and Mama, because she is the mother of three girls.
I grew up in South Addison Maine in the middle of 100 acres of woods with no running water, no electricity and no telephone. We had horses, goats and chickens and a farm. It was just my parents and my sister and I living off the land, 100 percent off the grid. My older sister and I went to school, but we never felt we were different from anyone else. I loved our life so much that I never questioned it. Only later I realized that it wasn’t how most people lived.
My chores were to brush the dog, sweep the floor (because we didn’t have a vacuum), empty the compost, and help my dad milk the goats. They grew green beans, and I had to pick the green beans, and I had a little stool for that. And when my dad went out into the woods to harvest wood off our woodlot, and with the pine that wasn’t useful to him, he’d build me a teepee. I loved it. From a very young age, I had my own garden, too, where I grew foxglove and chrysanthemums and bachelor buttons because I loved their names. And they were pretty.
But as much as I loved it, now that I’m older, I can see how hard subsistence living is, especially if you’re trying to raise children. My parents divorced when I was in 4th grade.
My dad stayed on and re-married, and my mother moved to Appleton briefly, then Union, and then Waldoboro when she re-married.
And suddenly I had my dad and my stepmom and then, my mom and my stepdad. I went from being the baby of the family to having, in my father’s new family, a step-sister who was the exact same age as me — tricky. Then, a year or so later, my mom had a baby girl, and I became a middle sister,
It was a lot of balancing acts, growing up, geographically and emotionally. I had to figure out where I fit in, and how to piece it together. It was a lot of change. And change is hard for me. If people ask me where I got my energy, I got it because I had to keep going. I had to find my own way.
In Waldoboro, I landed on sports. I had started running, and in middle school I tried basketball and softball. But they didn’t feel like my sports. I found soccer and gymnastics in high school. But when I signed up for track, that became my true sport. And I did everything. I high jumped, ran the relay and did the hurdles. At a meet in 1994, I set a record for the 300-meter hurdles which I still hold at MVHS.
And doing sports made me feel powerful. It was, “Look at me. I can do this. I can do all these amazing things.” I loved that euphoria.
At Bowdoin, I majored in psychology and education and did more track. I turned into a sprinter and ran the 100, the 200, and the 55-meter dash. I went twice to the NCAA championships. Now when I go to my daughter’s MVHS away matches down at Bowdoin, I can see my name in three places on their Wall of Fame.
After college, I took a 2-year teaching position on Monhegan Island. Deneb, now my husband, came out with me. He was a lobsterman, and I worked in the one-room schoolhouse teaching kids from pre-school through 8th grade. And at the end of two years, we decided to live somewhere totally different and settled on Florida. That was where I got pregnant.
In Florida they have huge hospital systems with tests and doctors. Very early on, we learned we were having a girl. But one of the scans showed there was fluid on her brain which meant she would be stillborn. Or, if she lived, it would be only for a few hours. They said she would never turn eighteen. She’d be brain dead. They said I should abort.
But I didn’t. I said to her, “I love you. I love every part of you, no matter who you are and how you are. And I’m going to bring you into this world with love, and I’m going to love you up as long as I can.” Every day I showered her with love.
Then, after another test, they determined I had gestational diabetes. I had to prick my finger all the time. After still another test, they told me I was hypoglycemic. It was not a rosy time, despite what the pictures might look like. Still, every day and every moment I was filling her with love.
I went through 39 hours of induced labor, and I thought I’d be giving birth to a child who would never live. And when she was born, she looked like she had holes in her head. But I kept showering her with love. When they wiped her off, I could see it was not holes in her head. It was only dark spots from her goopy blond hair. We named her Zaniah, after the Eta star of Virgo.
I still think about it. The world needs so much love. The power of love is the biggest thing I carry from that experience.
Not long after, we moved back to Waldoboro to be close to both our families. And two more daughters followed: Haley, named for the comet, and Lyra, for the constellation.
Even before we had children, we promised ourselves two things: one, that our family would always have books, and two, that we would always have one of us there to take care of them, or a grandparent because we felt it was important for us to be there for them. We wanted to create a home for them where they always felt they belonged, and surrounded with the power of our love for them.
But we did not make your traditional home. When their friends came over, we would build fairy houses, or climb trees, stomp in puddles, and explore the woods. Or do handicrafts like felting, knitting or painting. Our children didn’t get to watch TV unless it was raining. But we did have an iPad, and they could do that occasionally.
My girls also found their way into team sports. And that makes me feel good, because I want them to feel strong and important. And as a family, we all show up to support them at games. And that’s it’s not always easy with three girls doing different sports. But it’s intentional. When you go to girls sporting events, you just don’t have as many fans.
I’m loud, as anybody in the stands will tell you. But it’s also who I am, and I’m not apologizing for it. Rather, it’s like that Sara Bareilles song that we used to dance to in living room: “Say what you wanna say/And let the words fall out/Honestly I wanna see you be brave.”
I want my daughters to be themselves, to be who they are, and to say so. And to speak out, make a noise and be brave. Otherwise, it can be a struggle, and I’ve seen it with my girls – if they don’t speak up, people are likely to pass over their ideas. So, I teach my girls that they are brave, and that they are loud. Well, they’re not loud yet, but they’re getting there.
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